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The Breakfast

By Michael Woolum

As hunters, most of us have memories of
lodges and campsites that have offered a
variety of meals. Most of the dinners
were either elaborate or functional,
designed to impress or to satisfy tired
hunters returning from a day in the field
or a trek up a high mountain. Breakfasts,
on the other hand, are almost always a
basic affair that wakes you up with the
aroma of strong coffee and bacon frying.
The average camp cook usually serves up
large helpings of pancakes, sausage, eggs,
bacon and potatoes.

Now for most people the experience of having
breakfast on a hunting trip is not something
that would out shine the trip or the taking
of a trophy animal. Some of us are not like
most people. The following episode is true
and took place on a trip by myself and two
friends.

This hunt started out like many others had,
when a hunting partner of mine called and
suggested that we make a quick week end trip
for the opener of the Blacktail season in
Northern California. The trip was normal in
all respects until we reached the north coast
area, at which time we ran into one of those
winter weather fronts that the north coast is
famous for. It rained and rained and rained.
We drove for over an hour into the National
Forest trying to locate our planned camp site.
By midnight, we were tired and decided to pitch
camp. This was done with all of our bedding and
gear being thoroughly soaked. By morning, we
were too tired to even think about trying to
dry things out to fix breakfast. After a three
to zero vote, we decided that the only thing to
do was to try to find a town and have a quick
breakfast before we started our hunt.

After a short drive down the mountain, we came
across one of those little logging communities
that seem to spring up out of nowhere. It didn't
take long to locate the only restaurant in town.
I don't remember just how large (small) this town
was but suffice it to say 100 people would have
been a crowd. Out of respect for those persons
that just may still be there, I won't name this
little out post of "California Laid Back".

The restaurant was one of those multi-use affairs
that most small towns have. In the midwest it
would have doubled as the Grange Hall or the
local VFW chapter bingo parlor. As we entered
it was obvious that a recent event had taken
place, since there were remnants of crepe paper
streamers still hanging from the rafters and
walls. The only seating available was at the
counter. Apparently the tables had been removed
for the previous night's festivities.

Taking our places at the counter, our only
thought was, how quick could we get a cup of
coffee and breakfast. We soon realized that
we were the first customers of the morning,
since the coffee had not been made and there
did not appear to be a waiter or waitress
anywhere in sight. After several minutes, I
called out and this elderly gentleman came
out and asked what we wanted. We must have
woken him up. We said that we would like
to order breakfast and that we would like
some coffee. With a grunt he turned and
mumbled something about flatlanders and
prepared to make the coffee. Now this would
normally be a relatively simple procedure,
but as I said this was turning out to be
anything but normal. The old gentleman prepared
everything as required and slid the filter
holder into the maker and pushed the brew
switch. After several minutes the coffee maker
started to brew and drip coffee. OOPS! Problem
number one, he forgot to place the pot under
the drip filter. Coffee was running all over
the floor. My friend sitting next to the end
of the counter made a dash and placed the pot
in the maker. We sat there several minutes
during which time the old man never returned,
so we served ourselves coffee and started to
look for someone who just might be the real
waiter or cook.

A young lady finally made her presence known
and asked if we wanted a menu, after which she
promptly disappeared, not to return for more
than five minutes. Upon her return she told us,
in a very slow drawl that would have made people
in the south sound like New Yorkers, she told
us that they did not have menus. We asked if
we could just order some pancakes, eggs and
sausage. She said that would be fine with her,
so all three of us ordered the same thing. We
didn't want to confuse her.

Again she disappeared into what I would have
assumed to be the kitchen. Now this is where
things really started to turn weird and should
have been a warning to us that all was not well
in this outpost of logs and sawdust. She
returned and placed a plate in front of each
one of us. (EMPTY). Now, even I know that unless
there is a buffet, you don't normally start with
an empty plate.

About this time, we were joined by one of the
local men. The main distinction of this guy was
that he was the spittin' image of Festus from
the "Gun Smoke" TV show. He not only looked like
him, he walked and talked like him. I half expected
him to make some comment about Miss Kitty. At
this time our waitress decided to take a break
from her morning ordeal of preparing us our breakfast.
She leaned over the counter and with a sigh, she said. "Sure.................Had.................A.......................
Good......................Time...................Last
....................Night." His only comment was (you
guessed it), "Yep". At which she turned and served
him a cup of coffee and went back to the kitchen.

As I said, things were starting to really
get weird, but what happened next would
make seeing an alien from space seem like
an everyday occurrence. Without even a
thought of what she was doing, the waitress
came from the kitchen with a spatula in her
hand, on which rested ONE EGG, which she
placed on my friend's plate. Turning she
returned to the kitchen.

Now, so as not to keep you in suspense too
long, I will only say that, if you have
never been served a breakfast one egg, one
pancake and one piece of sausage at a time
then you can't possibly imagine what this
was like. We didn't know whether to laugh,
cuss or cry. We would have left but all three
of us wanted to see if she was really going
to serve our breakfast in this manner. She did.
This breakfast took over one and a half hours
and we had to get our own silverware from behind
the counter.

After we finally finished THE BREAKFAST, as
it was now known, we were sitting there
finishing our coffee when another local came
in and asked if we were hunters. Answering him
in the affirmative, he then asked if we wanted
to go and kill a bear that was feeding at the
lumber camp dump. Ah! but that's another story.
So the next time that you're sitting around a
campfire and Cookie has prepared you a morning
feast that can be eaten in one sitting, be sure
to thank him and let him know that he is the
best camp-cook that you have ever had the
privilege to be served by. ~ Michael Woolum